


A Wasteland Tale

by themoistplinth



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Keith is badass, Keith learns to love, M/M, Post-Nuclear War, Wasteland!AU, also I think I might give Keith ptsd, gift for a pal, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8132123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoistplinth/pseuds/themoistplinth
Summary: After the bombs fell, all that mattered is surviving. But maybe Keith has found something more-maybe family is more important.





	

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY HUNNY

Cold sand blew across the desolate landscape, stirring up something where all there ever will be was nothing. The gentle wind seemed to mock the world, teasing it for its lifelessness. The world used to be better than this, a long time ago, 150 years, maybe more. Time was pointless in the wasteland that stretched the vast expense of the once proud Earth. 

Before was better, that’s what everyone told each other. It was a better world before the bombs dropped, those terrible nuclear bombs. The world before had everything a wastelander could only dream about, working cars, pristine robots, plentiful food.

For Keith, those luxuries were just a dream left on the pillow for another fool to chase. The only thing that mattered in this wasteland now was surviving, no matter the cost.

For days he’d been travelling north, as far as he knew at least, hoping to find a town or a village or a cluster of buildings to scavenge. His food supplies were running low and his supply of clean water was all but gone-the last time he’d had to drink the irradiated shit that sat in puddles or long rusted pipes he’d been ill for weeks; a less determined man would have died. Once he’d tried drinking the rain on the rare occasion it fell from the sky but the water was foul and acidic, burning his tongue stomach for hours.

In the distance, as the sun rose high above his head, Keith saw off in the distance a set of neat houses at the side of the rose, a long forgotten village or such. The houses were faded and dirty, one collapsed in on itself entirely. The village, if it could even be called that, seemed so broken and desolate Keith would be lucky to find even rotting food within.

Half an hour’s walk and Keith was within shooting distance of the village; he slid his long Bowie Knife from its sheath and moved silently closer to the houses. The façade of abandonment had more than once been just that in Keith’s experience; once he’d entered expecting easy pickings. He was greeted that time by savage, starving dogs. That had been a bad day.

Another time he’d been greeted by pulsating larvae of some mutated insect-that time he’d left as silently as he had entered, fearing the larvae and its contents. That had been a better day

Once he’d found other, more violent scavengers already there. That had been the worst day.

Upon reaching the buildings Keith started toward the crumbled house-the wreckage would most likely be unsalvageable but the way the roof had collapsed left a ramp up to the flatter rooves of the other buildings. From there Keith could analyse his surroundings and decide where to scavenge first, or even if the spot was safe enough to make camp for the night. 

The climb was hard, but not as hard as it could have been; the tiles of the roof made for an easier climb but the tiles were loose and gave way beneath his hands more than once. They crashed to the floor with an almighty shattering sound, echoing for miles around. It was satisfying to hear the sound, Keith’s own thoughts being all he had most days, but dangerous too. If anyone was hiding in the houses they knew Keith was there now, and that would most likely only end in blood. 

The top of the steep ramp was reached and Keith climbed onto the attached building’s flat roof with a feeling of satisfaction-a satisfaction all but lost when he saw what awaited him at the top.

Keith froze; a small, dark series of cat-sized insects slept on the roof. The things breathed, their shelled backs rising and falling. The things’ six legs twitched randomly, each movement stopping Keith’s heart for fear they would awaken.

Keith had seen the beasts before; in an old power station a large nest of them had assembled along a conveyor belt. He’d found them much larger that time; they sat with claws and pincers and long, gangly legs and a pill-bug-like shell, which turned out to be a lot more difficult to penetrate than Keith had thought. He still had nightmares of that trip, the feeling of the insects tearing into his flesh and tearing off chunks. These insects were smaller but still easily large enough to tear him limb from limb.  
Keith thought about his options; he could turn and climb back down the roof, but that was less than ideal for many reasons-if the tiles came loose again it would easily wake the beasts. The roof also had no way for Keith to climb down, the tiles angling completely wrong for the climb to be silent or safe. 

Keith could check the side of the building for some kind of fire escape or balcony to jump onto but who knows if it would hold his weight or be silent enough for him to escape safely; the roof too may not hold his weight as he checked, giving way and definitely awaking the insects. 

Waiting much longer also wasn’t an option-the creatures might too be able to smell Keith’s presence, or just feel his light breathing. He had to decide and soon. 

“Shot through the heart! And you’re to blame!” came a sing-shout from the road below, echoing around the village, “You give looooove a bad name!” it continued with a laugh and the sound of a rock skittering across the floor.

Keith felt himself start to shake in panic as the insects made a faint chittering noise, responding to the rude awakening. 

“Lance, c’mon,” came a second voice, “You know how scared I get when you do that”. 

The insects began to rise and Keith swore internally, wishing he could scream at the poor fools to shut up, “You’re scared all the time Hunk, don’t act like it’s anything to do with my beautiful voice”. 

“Both of you be quiet,” a third, smaller voice sounded, just a carrying whisper that barely reached Keith’s ears, “Don’t you hear that?” 

“You’re just being paranoid Pidge,” Lance teased before shouting, at what sounded like the top of his voice, “THERE’S NOTHING OUT HERE!”

Immediately the insects screeched and leapt from the roof to the street, not a single one remaining with Keith. The area they sat looked black and sticky, the remains of past meals amongst the tar-like substance. In the centre was a red, metallic orb, shining in the sunlight. 

“What the fuck are these things?” Lance called from the streets, the noise of gunshots piercing the quiet air. 

Keith crept to the nest, unsure of his actions and reasons for his movement and picked up the orb. The goo of the nest clung to it but released it easily-he wiped it on his long, red sleeve and tucked it into his pack. 

“Lance!” the third, smallest voice shouted, “Hunk’s hurt!” 

Keith chanced a look down at the street and saw three men (boys really) garbed in tattered rags and each carrying a large pack. The biggest boy had what looked like a Minigun yet it seemed to have seen little use-Keith hadn’t heard it go off once. The boy himself was clearly close to crying as blood trickled down his arm, his clothes completely soaked in the stuff. Another, screaming boy had a longer, rifle like gun that he shot frantically, hitting everything but the bugs and his friends. Finally a third, short boy had just a meat cleaver and swung at any insect that came too close to him, succeeding in wounding several. 

Keith knew what he had to do; he could use this chance to slide down the ramp he’d used to climb up and escape. 

Keith pulled his emergency flare gun from his pack and shot as far as he could into the distance from back where he’d come from, down the road that lead south. The shot sailed loudly and after a short trip burst into an explosion of light. The bugs immediately bolted toward the light, transfixed, their long legs carrying them at an unnatural speed. 

“Run,” Keith shouted from the roof at the boys down on the road. They stared in shock before Keith repeated, with more authority, “RUN”. 

The boys all nodded and began to move quickly out the small village-Keith slid down the tiled roof loudly and started to follow them as fast as he could, cursing himself for wasting a precious flare on three complete strangers. 

Keith was almost away from the group of buildings when a sharp pain attacked his back; he turned and fell at the same time, landing hard on his back. He stared up in fear as two of the insects screeched angrily above him, their sharp pincers elongating. Keith tried to crawl away but the insects began to lower themselves already-he patted his body for his Bowie Knife but it wasn’t in its sheath-he had no knife then. He had no weapon then and no way to protect himself. 

All things considered he felt calm-a part of him had thought for a long time he would wake up one day to find himself eaten by one of these things-it wasn’t that he expected to be followed by them or to be dumb enough to sleep near them. He just thought that after everything that had happened, everything he had done to survive, it would serve him right if the thing that finally killed him were the bugs. 

One of them began to reach its pincers toward Keith’s cheek before it jerked back violently and fell harshly, the second bug following suite. 

“Come on!” one of the boys, Lance, shouted, his gun smoking in his hand, “Move your mullet out of there!” 

Keith shook his head, dazed, and climbed to his feet as fast as he could. He stumbled at first but quickly got a better hold of himself and rushed down the road behind the three boys. They ran for what felt like forever, their leg muscles burning in protest, as they left the hellhole of the buildings behind them. 

Eventually they started to slow from a run to a jog to a fast walk before finally just stopping-out of breath and tired. Keith’s throat was dry and he indulged himself in the last of his water to parch his throat. Around him the boys did the same, drinking their fill and breathing heavily.

Finally one of them, the smallest, spoke, “Everyone okay? Anyone hurt?” 

A murmur of words rose in which they all muttered they were fine-even the big one, whose bleeding had at some point stopped during the run (a good thing too, a blood trail being one of the easiest things for monsters to trace). 

“What the hell were those things,” Lance panted. 

“Bugs,” Keith coughed, “They’re normally bigger than that. We got lucky”. 

“Thanks for that trick with the light,” the big guy said, “How’d you do that?” 

Keith pulled out the now-empty flare gun, holding it by the barrel, “Flare gun, found it in a cabin down south. Not got much left in it”. 

“What’s your name?” the smallest asked, pulling large goggles off their face. 

“I’m Keith,” he said, the normality of the introduction feeling strange to him. 

The smallest nodded, “I’m Pidge,” he said, “The big guy’s Hunk-”

“Sup,” Hunk waved tiredly. 

“And the other guy’s-”

“Don’t tell him my biz!” Lance scowled, before flashing a grin at Keith, “The name’s Lance. The one who saved you. You’re welcome”. 

“Er, thanks,” Keith said awkwardly, “I guess we’re even then”. 

Lance’s face froze just for a moment as if confused, before quickly reverting to the previous look, “So what was an emo like you doing in a town like that?” 

Emo? “I was looking for water or food, I’m all out more or less. What about you guys?” 

“Pretty much the same thing, just y’know, probably less successful,” Hunk babbled, “Just looking around and not really looking for anything at all in particular, that kind of thing”. 

“We would’ve been fine if Lance had kept quiet,” Pidge scowled, “But ever since we found an old record with some song on it he’s been unable to shut up”. 

“How was I meant to know there was weird monster bugs!” 

“What’re you gonna do now?” Keith cut across, not eager to cause more loud noise, still not completely over the events from back at the town. 

“We were gonna head back to our camp,” Hunk said, “It’s just a little over the hill that way”. 

“We should bring Keith back,” Pidge said decisively, “He’s clearly experienced and wouldn’t just save a bunch of random people unless he was a good guy”. 

“Um, hello?” Lance said, “We barely know the guy!” 

“He doesn’t seem like he’d hurt us,” Hunk added, “And he said he has no supplies, he’ll die out here on his own”. 

“Since when do we need a fifth person to search?” Lance demanded. 

“Okay Lance, how about when it’s your family we’re looking for you get to choose who helps,” Pidge shot, “Oh wait, we can’t your family’s dead”. 

“Woah, Pidge, tone it back,” Hunk warned, “We know you’re still upset about your family but that was across the line”. 

Pidge and Lance stared at each other for a while, Hunk and Keith just standing nearby awkwardly-the tension in the air was palpable and Keith felt as if he was probably not meant to have heard the exchange between the three boys. Eventually Lance cracked and looked away and Pidge nodded. 

“So we’re in agreement,” he said, “Keith, Lance, Hunk and I would like to offer you to join us. We have food and water and could use another pair of eyes with us”. 

“What did you say about searching for your family?” Keith asked nervously, distrusting of large groups. 

“We’ll explain it back at camp,” Pidge said dismissively, “Right now we just have to have an answer”. 

For a long time Keith had been on his own-it was safer that way. The only person that would let Keith down that way would be himself. At the same time though he missed people; he missed the comfort of having someone watching his back, of knowing he could sleep without the bugs crawling up his body, pinching at his flesh. 

“I’ll join you,” Keith nodded finally, his voice small, “But first we need to rest”. 

Pidge grinned, “Perfect”.


End file.
